


Are We In The Clear Yet (Good)

by Chash



Series: Coming Out of My Cage and I've Been Doing Just Fine [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Relationships, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 09:42:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3805792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a rough few years, Clarke Griffin really needs to get out of Hollywood. A summer movie in Arcadia, Virginia seems like the perfect opportunity to rethink her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are We In The Clear Yet (Good)

**Author's Note:**

> According to Wikipedia, there are a couple places in Virginia called Arcadia. This is based off of and accurate to none of them. Title from Taylor Swift.

According to her phone, Clarke is seventeen minutes away from her hotel when her car craps out and dies. She has enough warning that she can at least pull over onto the side of the road, and she rests her head on the steering wheel for a long minute, taking deep, steadying breaths. She was so _close_. 

"Please don't be _dead_ ," she tells the car, and looks up the number for a mechanic on her phone.

"Corvid Bodyworks," says the woman on the other end, and Clarke takes a few more calming breaths before answering.

"Hi, my car is broken down, on--shit," she gets out of the car to look around. "Near the intersection of Elm Street and State Street, I think? Is that a place? Sorry, I just got here, I'm--"

The woman laughs. "Yeah, that's a place. You need a tow?"

"Yes, that would be great."

"Okay, Wick'll be there in about ten minutes. Sit tight."

She disconnects the call and sends a quick text to her assistant back in LA-- _arrived mostly safely, car's dead, tow truck's on the way, DON'T WORRY_ \--and then gets out of the car, stretching her legs and looking around. Arcadia is small and quiet, _quaint_ , and Clarke feels wildly out of place. She's always been a big-city girl, surrounded by buildings and people, and it's both exhilarating and nerve-wracking to be out here, alone, in the middle of nowhere. She can't remember the last time she was this alone. She probably never has been.

And, of course, she's already broken down by the side of the road, waiting for someone to come bail her out. Pathetic.

The tow truck rumbles up soon enough, and a tall, wiry guy with spotty facial hair hops out. He clearly recognizes her--everyone in town must know she's coming--but he doesn't comment on it, just offers his hand. "Hey, I'm Kyle Wick. Everyone calls me Wick. You called for a tow?"

"Yeah, that's me," she says. "Clarke Griffin." Just because he already knows doesn't mean she's going to be rude.

He nods. "I'm just gonna take a quick look under the hood, make sure it's not something I can fix up for you right here, save you the trip. That cool?"

"Please."

He whistles when he gets a good look at the car. "Wow, this is, uh--"

"A shit heap?" Clarke offers, with a small smile.

"I was going to say vintage. Or classic. But, yeah, also a shit heap. I'm amazed it got you here." He glances over his shoulder as he gets the hood up. "Did you drive it all the way from LA? Alone?"

"Yeah," says Clarke, with a shrug. "I like driving."

"Jesus," he breathes. "I'm amazed it took this long to crap out on you."

She smiles a little. "Yeah, me too."

"Well, the bad news is, I can't do anything for you here. The good news is, I think Raven should be able to get it up and running, which I was not expecting based on it being a shit heap. So at least there's that." He closes the hood and goes over to the tow truck. "You coming along?"

"Yeah, that would be great. Thanks."

"It is literally my job," he says, all good cheer. "Hop in."

He gets the car hooked up to his truck and gets behind the wheel, chatting easily as they drive out, like she's any other person who's having car trouble. She learns he's twenty-seven and started Corvid Bodyworks with his now-girlfriend four years ago. He's always lived in Arcadia, and he's sort of in a band.

"Mostly we occasionally invade our friend Miller's garage and bang on instruments until his neighbors call the cops on us."

She has to smile. "I hear that's how all the best bands start."

Wick grins back. "Right? Our big break's coming any day now." He scrutinizes her. "Seriously, how long did it take you to drive here? And why, in god's name, did you drive here? I'm not even sure it's _cheaper_ to drive from California to Virginia than it is to fly, and even if it is, there is no way you couldn't afford plane tickets."

She shrugs a little, looking out the window. "I always drive when I can."

"How long?"

"Four days."

He whistles again. "Seriously. That's--something."

"I've had a lot of suggestions," she says, with a smile. " _Insane_ from my mother. _Needlessly stubborn_ from my best friend. _You're driving me to an early grave_ from my assistant." 

He laughs. "Put me down for all of the above." He turns into the auto shop and brings the car inside. There's a girl in an oil-stained jumpsuit waiting for them, a really _gorgeous_ girl, she can't help noticing. She wouldn't look out of place on any of Clarke's movie sets, once she washed her face. "Brought you a present, Reyes."

"Holy fuck, that is a Frankencar," Reyes says, checking out the car as Wick lets it down. She glances at Clarke and does a double-take. "This is what you drive?"

"My dad built it from spare parts when he was twenty. He was so proud of it." She shuts her mouth, not wanting to keep going. She's been fighting with her mom about this car for ten years, but these two don't need to know that. "It still runs, anyway," she says, with an awkward jerk of her shoulders. "Wick said you could fix it."

"Making promises I can't keep?" Reyes asks Wick with a raise of her eyebrows.

"Sorry, I was under the impression you were good at this." He crosses his arms. "I checked under the hood; it's not _pretty_ , but all its parts are in decent shape."

"I take care of it," Clarke offers, a little shy.

Reyes sizes her up and offers her hand. "I'm Raven," she says. "Don't worry, I've got this. But it's quitting time and, no offense, but you look like you could use a drink."

She lets out a surprised laugh. "I do?"

"Probably a whole bottle," says Wick. "Octavia's working tonight, right?" he asks Raven.

"Yup. Our apartment's over a bar. Grab a bag, you can take a shower at our place, get changed, have a few, and we'll get you to your hotel after."

It sounds like the best idea she's ever heard. But she has to ask, "You know what hotel I'm staying at?"

"There's only one nice hotel in town," says Raven, with a shrug. "Not exactly rocket science."

"Although, for the record, she can also do some rocket science," says Wick, draping his arm over Raven's shoulders. "You in?"

Clarke can't help it; she likes them. "Yeah, I'm in."

*

"Stop glaring."

Bellamy takes a break from glaring at his sister's boyfriend, playing darts with Jasper and Monty, to glare at his sister instead. "I'm not glaring. I'm watching."

She rolls her eyes. "He's nice. He's a good guy. He--"

"He's older than I am," says Bellamy. "He's _thirty_."

"You're an asshole. I like this guy, Bell. Put in some effort, okay?"

He sighs. "I'm not going over there and interrogating him, am I? Give me some credit."

"Congratulations for not being as much of an asshole as you could be." But she cracks a smile, and he cracks one back.

"That wasn't so hard."

"Yeah, y--" she cuts herself off, eyes widening in the direction of the door. "Holy shit."

"What?" 

He starts to turn, but Octavia grips his arm and hisses, "Act natural," like turning to see who just came in is a deeply suspicious activity. "Hey!" she says, overly bright, as Wick comes up. Wick isn't really that exciting; he doesn't know what O's problem is.

"Hey," says Raven. "So, this is Octavia, our friendly neighborhood bartender. The guy glaring at his gin and tonic is her less friendly brother, Bellamy. O, Bell, this is Clarke. Her car broke down."

Bellamy has to admit that _Clarke Griffin_ probably warrants a _holy shit_. They all knew she was coming, of course; he has no idea why anyone wants to film a movie here, but it's all anyone's talked about for months. Sterling, the kid who runs the register on nights, has been talking about how he's going to get a selfie with Clarke Griffin if it kills him for _weeks_ , and now here she is, in the fucking _bar_ with Raven and Wick, with damp hair, wearing a Batman t-shirt. She barely even looks like a movie star.

"Hi!" says Octavia, way, way too perky. Octavia's a big fan.

"Your car broke down?" Bellamy asks, wary.

Clarke shrugs. "It's a piece of shit."

"You drive a piece of shit?" Octavia glares at him, but Raven fields the question.

"As an automotive specialist, I can confirm that thing is a genuine, certified piece of shit. It's the real deal." She grins at Clarke. "Luckily for you, I am a genuine, certified mechanical genius, so it'll be fine. But she's been driving for, what, four days? So we're gonna need drinks, O."

Bellamy boggles at her. "Four days?"

She slides onto the stool next to his. "From LA."

"Jesus. You do deserve a drink."

She smiles at him, just a little. She looks small and shy and tired, and he feels protectiveness well up in him, inevitable. Then she turns to Octavia. "Do you have cider on tap, or just in bottles?"

"We've got one on tap, yeah."

"I'll take the biggest glass off that you've got."

Octavia grins. "I like you," she declares, and fills the glass. 

Raven and Wick get their regular beers and head over to check out the dart game; Clarke stays where she is, eyes closed, taking small sips of her cider. She looks like she might fall asleep any minute.

He and Octavia exchange a look, and Bellamy's hoping she's going to be the one who takes it on herself to start the conversation rolling, but a couple people sit down at the other side of the bar, and she takes off to serve them. So it's up to him. "Why did you drive a piece of shit car from LA?" he asks.

"I like driving," she says, shifting a little in her seat. She's trying to hide behind him, and he leans forward slightly, blocking her from the guys Octavia is helping. "And the piece of shit car was my dad's. He built it himself, so I'm keeping it."

Bellamy knows about Clarke Griffin's parents; everyone does. Her mother is an actress herself, and the daughter of actors. Clarke's Hollywood royalty. Bellamy doesn't pay attention to this stuff, but their whole history was all over the news after her dad died. Abby Kingman was engaged to Marcus Kane, another hugely famous actor, but broke it off to marry Jake Griffin, a stuntman on her latest film. There had been a lot of articles talking about how their love "broke all the rules," although as far as Bellamy's concerned, anyone who thinks two conventionally attractive, straight, white people who work in Hollywood getting married counts as "rule-breaking" is an idiot. 

He remembers it mostly because Jake Griffin died a few months after his mother did, and he felt for that little girl he'd never met, who was only a year older than Octavia. There were heartbroken pictures of her everywhere, blonde and angelic, only thirteen, so _brave_. The media coverage was bullshit, but Clarke's pain was real and obvious and horribly familiar. She was in the car when he crashed. She survived with superficial injuries; her father died on impact. He and Octavia had both felt the same connection to her, like they were all in a club together. 

Her first movie appearance was six months later, playing a girl crying at a funeral in the last film her father ever worked on, and she's been a superstar almost ever since.

It's strange to think of it with her right next to him, a real person for the first time. He wants to say a lot more than he should, so he just goes with, "Yeah, I can see that." He offers a smile. "Well, not the driving for four days part."

She lets out a small snort of laughter. "That's what Wick said."

Her phone starts playing "Short Skirt, Long Jacket" by Cake, and she smiles, happier than he's seen her so far. "Sorry, that's my best friend wanting to verify I'm alive. Watch my drink?"

"Sure," he says, and watches her go, feeling vaguely poleaxed.

"Well?" Octavia prompts, when she comes back over.

"Well what?" he asks, finishing his gin and tonic. "She got a call."

"You were _talking to her_." Raven wanders back over, and Octavia shifts her focus. "How did you get Clarke Griffin here?"

"I asked," says Raven, with a shrug. "You scared her off already?" she asks Bellamy. 

"I'm just that good," Bellamy says, raising his empty glass in a mock toast. 

Raven rolls her eyes. "Dick," she says, fond.

"She got a call," he tells her. "It didn't sound like an excuse to leave."

"Her stuff is still in my car, so if she bails I'm eBaying it. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, right?" Bellamy bumps her fist.

"Please don't ruin my chances of becoming best friends with a movie star," Octavia says. "This is my only shot at this."

"Hey, I brought her. Worry about Bellamy, not me."

"I'm totally going to scare her off," Bellamy confirms. Before Octavia can reply, though, Clarke is back, still looking fairly cheerful. "See, she hates me," he tells Octavia, who blushes. Clarke raises her eyebrows at him. "Nothing," he says, and pushes her drink at her. "Untouched."

"Thanks," says Clarke. She cracks her neck, and it's a pretty impressive sound. "You guys might have a point about driving for four days."

"Yeah, no one could see that was a shitty idea," says Bellamy. Octavia shoves another drink at him, like this will somehow make him less sarcastic. "You remember I'm a grumpy drunk, right? This isn't going to help make me better company."

"You're not that bad," says Clarke, surprising him. 

He glances at her. "You have very low standards."

She rolls her eyes. "You're trying to include me in conversation, you're joking around, and you haven't asked for my autograph. You're miles ahead of most people I meet in bars."

"Go to a lot of bars?"

She ducks her head. "Okay, yeah. Not a lot of bars. Well, not bars like this."

"Well, you're welcome any time," Octavia says. "If anyone bothers you, I will kick their asses."

"She's a brown belt," says Raven. "So that's not all talk." She glances over at the dartboard. "I think they're finishing up, you want in on this, Clarke?"

She downs the rest of her cider, which is quite a feat, and then stands. "I'm so in."

Bellamy watches her go, thoughtful; Octavia hits him with her dishtowel. "Are you really going to be happy if that's your only celebrity encounter? You didn't even get a selfie. Come on, Bell."

"I didn't want a selfie," he says, absent.

But, honestly, he doubts he's going to be happy if that was his only encounter with Clarke Griffin.

*

Lexa calls again the next morning. "How's your car?"

Clarke glares at nothing in particular, since Lexa can't see her anyway. "It's eight a.m. in Virginia. The mechanic won't even be open for another few hours."

She huffs. "I'm worried about you."

"Please don't fly in from Paris to worry about me," Clarke says, amused. Most of her relationships imploded during her breakdown at eighteen, and the fact that she kept Lexa not only through that, but through a rocky relationship and breakup a couple years later, is nothing short of miraculous. But it has left Lexa with some pretty intense protective instincts.

"I can worry about you from here."

"Good." She leans back in bed, closing her eyes. "It's nice. I needed a break. It's quiet, and the bar I went to last night was cool. The bartender was sweet, the girl I went with was super hot. Taken, but hot." She doesn't mention Bellamy, who was--refreshing. He was gruff and kind of socially inept, but she got the impression he was always like that. They all seemed _genuine_ , and Clarke doesn't get that a lot.

"I wish you'd at least brought Monroe."

Clarke smiles at that. "So does Monroe. I've been getting a billion texts a day reminding me to eat and sleep and exercise."

"Have they announced the engagement yet?"

"Not yet."

There's some noise on Lexa's end of the line, and Lexa tells someone named Jacques that he can go fuck himself, and then says the same thing in French. 

"Busy shoot?"

"I am going to murder everyone here," she says. "I could do a better job on these pictures with my phone and a selfie stick. I should just start doing my own photos. I should do everything. None of these people are competent."

"I miss you," Clarke says, fond. 

"I miss you too. And once you're done with self-imposed exile, you can see me." There's more swearing, something in French at Jacques that Clarke can't quite translate, but Lexa is definitely planning to do something graphic with her shoe, and then, "God, they're children. I have to go. Let me know how the car is. Love you."

"Love you too."

Clarke's never been good at getting back to sleep once she's woken up, so she drags herself out of bed and showers. The hotel is nice enough, not as fancy as some places she's been, but the bed's decent and the water pressure is great, so she can live with it. She pulls on jeans and a t-shirt and puts her hair up in a baseball cap. She always feels kind of douchey wearing the sunglasses/baseball cap combo, and she can't imagine there are a ton of paparazzi in Arcadia, Virginia, but it's her first day out, and the last thing she wants is someone snapping candids when she's just looking for a goddamn coffee place.

She didn't get much a look around last night; by the time Raven and Wick drove her to the hotel, she was exhausted and pleasantly tipsy, and all she really got from the ride back was that she was within walking distance of Corvid Bodyworks. Now that she's awake and aware, she sees the street her hotel is on is nice, apparently part of the town's small downtown area, surrounded by cute local businesses. There's a coffee/bookshop across the street with a couple people sipping drinks at outdoor tables, looking happy and comfortable, and Clarke feels a tug of longing.

She's across the street before she's even thought about it, pushing open the door with a jangle of bells. The right side of the store is full of bookshelves, with a small counter on the left, which seems to be where the coffee is, and a larger counter at the back.

Bellamy is behind the large counter, chatting with a girl in an apron, who nods at him and heads over to the coffee station when she hears the door. Bellamy watches her go until he spots Clarke; she realizes too late that she's kind of awkwardly staring at him, and then there's nothing to do but go over and say hi.

"Morning," he says, leaning against the counter. "I guess you're staying at The Willows?"

"Raven told me that was common knowledge."

"I don't really keep up. And you could have been renting a place."

"No." She scrambles for something else to say, but she and Bellamy are slight acquaintances at best, and she's never been good at small talk. The best she can come up with is, "So, you work here?"

He looks pretty unimpressed with the question, which is fair. "I'm the co-owner," he says. "My best friend Miller runs the coffee shop, I handle the books."

"Cool."

Bellamy considers and then says, "Are you under-caffeinated, or just really bad at talking to people?"

She cracks a smile. "Both."

He smiles back. "Well, go get some coffee. You've been acceptably polite." He pauses and then adds, "Be nice to Fox if she recognizes you? She's been freaking out about you being in town."

Clarke glances over; the girl behind the counter doesn't seem to have noticed her at all yet. "Yeah?"

"If you give her an autograph, I'll comp your coffee."

She can't help laughing. "I think I can afford the coffee."

Bellamy huffs. "See if I try to do you any more favors."

Fox recognizes her pretty much as soon as she opens her mouth, but aside from one strange, strangled, high-pitched noise, she keeps her cool. Clarke pays for her coffee and asks if she wants an autograph anyway, and goes back over to Bellamy once she's got her drink.

"Do you know what time Raven opens up?" she asks. "I need to check on my car."

"Don't you have a phone you can ask?" he grumbles, without heat. "They don't open until nine, but I'm sure they're already there. Raven's an insomniac workaholic, and Wick is just weird."

"Okay, well--thanks." She takes a sip of her coffee, smiles. "I'll probably be back tomorrow. For the coffee."

"I'll pass your compliments onto Miller," he says. "See you around."

"I'll probably go back to the bar too," she offers. Bellamy just waves.

*

After a few weeks, Bellamy falls into a routine with Clarke Griffin, which is every bit as surreal as it sounds. She comes into the shop most mornings, even though, as he repeatedly points out, she could get _free_ coffee at the hotel. But he guesses she doesn't really care about a couple bucks a day. She hangs out in one of the nice chairs at the back, checking her email or texting or doing whatever it is she does until she has to leave for filming. Someone posts candid pictures of her hanging out in _her favorite local spot_ , which is kind of disconcerting, and he gets an increase in business and a lot of questions from semi-acquaintances about what she's like and if he can get her autograph. Sterling gets his selfie, and Bellamy wonders if it's that noticeable that her smile doesn't meet her eyes, or if he's just getting to know her.

She doesn't come to the bar as often as she comes to the bookstore, and even when she does, they don't always talk. She hangs out with Raven and Wick and destroys everyone at darts, but when she sits at the bar, she always sits next to him, and he doesn't think he's imagining that she looks more relaxed when he's there. They aren't exactly friends, not really, but they're friendly. She seems to like him, and he's trying not to reciprocate. She's prickly and kind of awkward and nothing like he expected, and he spends most of their time together trying to quash his protective instincts.

And then, it's Sunday morning, he's grocery shopping, and she's in the store looking _terrible_ , and he knows it's a lost cause.

"What are you doing here?" he hisses. He hasn't seen her for a few days, but he figured it was a coincidence. Now he's worried she's sick or on some kind of bender or something. She's wearing _sweatpants_. Someone could sell a picture of her looking like this for a lot of money.

"Bellamy?"

"You look awful."

Hurt flashes across her face. "Well, fuck you, too," she says, and he rubs between his eyes. It's not his job to take care of Clarke Griffin, but she clearly can't do it herself.

"That's not what I meant," he says. "Are you okay?"

She bites her lip, so hard he's worried she's going to start bleeding. "It's--" she lets out a ragged breath. "It's been ten years. Since my dad died. So--not really."

"Shit," he says. If he'd thought about it, he would have known this was coming; he and Octavia celebrated their own awful anniversary back in February. But he never took note of the exact date of Jake Griffin's death. It's not like he knew it was going to ever matter.

"Yeah," she says.

"Don't you--" He cards his hand through his hair. "What are you going to do? Do you--is there anyone here?"

"Anyone here?"

"For you to--you shouldn't be alone."

She snorts. "I came here to be alone, Bellamy."

He catches her wrist as she tries to leave. "Look, I get it, okay? My mom died a few months before your dad. Octavia and I just did this. Just--come hang out with us. You don't have to talk to us or interact at all. We'll leave you alone. But just in case."

He's not in any position to tell Clarke Griffin what to do. He's not her boss or her keeper, or even really her friend. But he's not going to let her go wallow alone if he can help it.

She looks fierce for a moment, like she's going to argue, but then she slumps. "Thanks," she says.

"Sure. Did you drive?"

"Yeah."

"Great. You can give me a ride home."

They check out and Bellamy gets his first experience _being_ in Clarke's shitty rust pile. He doesn't comment on it; he knows the car belonged to her father, and he doesn't want to bring him up before she does. All he really wants to do is be there for her, if she needs someone, but she might not. From what he can tell, she really doesn't want to need anyone.

"You have to tell me where I'm going," she says, soft, and he flushes. 

"Right, uh, left when you leave the parking lot."

It's not far--he walked over to the store, after all--and Octavia's car is gone when he gets back, of course. Bringing Clarke home to both of them seemed normal, helpful. Bringing her home without Octavia feels intimate in a way he doesn't want to think about.

"This is nice," she says, hesitant.

"You're welcome any time," he says, surprised that he means it.

There's a note from Octavia that says, _Hanging out with Lincoln, you should think about what it says about you that I snuck out while you were gone because you're SUCH A DICK about my BOYFRIEND. xoxo see you tomorrow asswipe._ He hands the note to Clarke and is reluctantly grateful to his sister when she cracks a smile.

"You hungry?" he asks.

"Not really." She sits down at the kitchen counter. "But I should probably eat. And, um--thank you. I know I'm being terrible company."

"You're always pretty bad company," he teases. It's not really true; he likes her kind of company. With fans, she's different, bright and gracious and polite, but as soon as they're gone, she lapses back into being herself, and he's always relieved when it happens.

She smiles again, like he was hoping she would. "You started it. You're grumpy, so I can be too."

"Please, I'm an outgoing rainbow compared to you."

She laughs softly. "Outgoing rainbow?"

"Outgoing rainbow," he confirms. He pours some popcorn into a bowl and grabs apple juice and cups. "Come on, the couch is more comfortable."

She sits down, feet curled under her, and accepts a glass of juice from him. "I've been outgoing for my entire life," she says, soft, like she's thinking it over. Bellamy nudges the popcorn toward her. "And I just--I couldn't anymore." Her smile is something twisted and angry. "I know these are all poor little rich girl problems, like, oh, I'm famous, oh, I can do whatever I want, I have to be rich and popular, sucks to be me, but--" She shakes her head. "I was a regular kid until my dad died. Or at least as regular as I could be. I went to school, I had friends. I'd never even thought about acting, not really." Bellamy can see her swallow. "And then he died."

"Yeah."

She leans back, closing her eyes. "It's weird, I'll go on google sometimes and see pictures of myself crying on my mom, or ones after the crash. Just hit them on a random google image search." She opens one eye to smirk at him. "Obviously what I deserve for vanity googling myself, but I wanted to see how accurate the fake nudes were." He snorts, which seems to make her feel better. "Anyway. My mom suggested acting might help me deal with it, that being in that stupid movie crying at a fake funeral might help me process everything. And she wasn't exactly wrong. I was so miserable, I was happy to have an excuse to be someone else for a while."

"I get that."

"You know about my, uh, I think the press called it my _wild period_?"

He snorts. "When you went off the rails at eighteen, punched a reporter on the red carpet, and ended up in jail for thirty days for assaulting a police officer during a bar fight? Yeah, I remember. It was awesome. And your mug shot was hot."

Clarke laughs. "Oh good, I was worried about that." She shifts a little closer to him, hesitant, and Bellamy knows that move from years of Octavia not really wanting to ask for affection. He lifts his arm, offering, and tries to ignore the way his heart flips over when she tucks herself into his side. She's small and warm and trembling a little, and he really shouldn't want to take care of her like he does. "My dad--I found out when I was eighteen, he and my mom were always fighting about me. He thought I shouldn't act until I was done with high school, until I'd had a chance to be a kid. My mom thought I should start young, that I could do homeschooling like she did, that it would be bad for my career if I waited too long." She sniffles. " _One month_ after he died, and she got my acting career started. _One month_ , she got me in that stupid movie, and started booking things for me. Even knowing that he'd never approve, that if he was alive he never would have let me. And I was just--I was so fucking _pissed_ when I found out. And I still am, I guess." She leans into him. "That's part of why I came out here. I just--it's been ten years, and I couldn't be with my mom for this one. Not after everything."

Bellamy squeezes her shoulder. "She might have been telling the truth," he says, gentle. "It was shitty to do, don't get me wrong--you weren't in any shape to be making choices like that, and she shouldn't have pushed. But she still might have been trying to help."

"I know," says Clarke, quiet. "I still can't forgive her, you know?"

"Yeah," he says, although he doesn't, not really. He only ever had one parent, and if she was alive, he would be close to her. He wouldn't know how not to be. But they don't feel like stupid rich girl problems, not when her whole face looks like an open wound.

"I miss him," she says, soft, and Bellamy rests his head on hers.

"Yeah." This one is true. "I know."

*

Clarke wakes up in a large, soft bed in a room filled with sunlight. It's definitely not her hotel room, but she doesn't quite remember where it is until she rolls over and gets a huge whiff of Bellamy's shampoo, and then she's horribly embarrassed, because she definitely spent yesterday crying on Bellamy about her dad, and then falling asleep on him. And, apparently, he gave her his bed and slept somewhere else.

She rolls over to find her phone and turn it back on. She'd warned Lexa she was turning it off, but she still has like fifteen missed calls and ten billion texts, although only about quarter of them are _ARE YOU OKAY_ ; the rest are about how incompetent everyone in this photoshoot is and then, later, about how drunk she is and how hot this girl is. At least she was considerate enough to send a picture; the girl _is_ hot. There's a missed call from her mother, and a voice mail. She almost deletes it, but leaves it for later instead, letting herself burrow into the covers for a few blissful minutes before getting up. Bellamy's bed is really comfortable. Monroe buys her the thousand-count sheets that are soft as anything, but Bellamy's got a home-made quilt and those sheets that feel like t-shirts, and it's working for her.

He's left a pile of clothes and a towel, and a note with a map to the bathroom, which is the cutest thing she's ever seen. She tucks it into her bag for safekeeping.

She feels better than she expected, and even better after a shower. She pulls on the clothes, which must be Octavia's because they don't fit quite right, but it's close enough. It's just after ten, four in Paris, so she calls Lexa on her way downstairs. She picks up on the third ring.

"Not dead in a ditch?"

"No."

"Good." There's a pause; Lexa is great, but comfort isn't one of her talents. "And?"

"It's okay. I hung out with a friend. He took care of me."

" _He_?" asks Lexa.

"That doesn't work when I'm bi," Clarke points out. "You could do the same insinuation if the friend was a girl."

Lexa starts to say something in response, but Clarke doesn't hear her, because she looks up as she enters the living room and meets Bellamy's eyes. She was sure he'd be at work--the bookstore opens at eight, and he works the morning shift on Mondays--but he's sitting on the couch in his pajamas, with coffee. He definitely heard about the insinuation, and probably the bisexuality. He gives her a small smile and mouths, _morning_ , and then picks up his mug and jerks his head behind him, to what looks like the kitchen.

He definitely knows her priorities.

"Hey, sorry," she says, cutting off Lexa, who's talking about how Clarke hadn't mentioned any _boy_ friends, just Raven and Octavia, like this is proof that Bellamy is significant. She's not exactly wrong, but that's clearly not a conversation she can have right now. "I have to call you back? I know, I know. I will. Promise."

"I'm glad you're feeling okay," Lexa says, and Clarke's surprised to realize it's true.

"Yeah, me too."

She pours herself a mug of coffee and goes back to sit with Bellamy. "Morning."

"Morning," he says. "You sleep okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks for giving me the bed."

He shrugs. "The couch folds out." He takes a long sip of his own coffee. "Friend of yours?"

"My best friend, Lexa. She's a model, she lives in Paris and wants to murder half the people in the industry."

"I can see why you get along." He smirks at her. "I'm glad you have friends. I was starting to worry."

"Shut up," she says, but she's laughing. "I have a friend." She might have two, but Wells is still kind of up in the air. She pays Monroe, so Monroe probably doesn't count.

"Good."

"Why aren't you at work?"

He gives her a thoroughly unimpressed look. "You thought I was going to leave without checking on you? I got someone to cover for me. I can miss a day."

She looks down at the coffee. "Thanks."

"Sure." He considers and then says, "Can I ask you something?"

There are a lot of questions he could ask, and she's surprised to find she's not worried about any of them. "Yeah."

"Do you like acting?"

She has to laugh. "You mean, the question I've been asking myself every day for five years?" 

"And you still don't know?"

She takes a long drink of her coffee. "I don't know what else I'd do. When my dad died, I liked drawing, I liked reading, and I liked math. But I was thirteen. I still liked ponies."

"What, you don't like ponies anymore?"

Clarke laughs. "You know what I mean. I thought about quitting after I got out of jail, but all of the directors had bent over backward to make their projects work around my schedule, and I didn't want to let them down. And then I'd get stuff that sounded interesting, and--I hate not being busy."

"You're not busy here."

She closes her eyes, because it's _true_ , but it hadn't felt like that. The movie isn't that time consuming; she's the nominal lead, but its an ensemble piece. She spends lots of time not really _doing_ anything, sitting at Bellamy's bookstore, playing darts or watching movies with Raven and Wick and anyone else who shows up. And she's not unhappy about it at all.

"I might just hate Hollywood," she says, soft.

"Well," he says, with a smooth shrug of his shoulders. "That's an easy fix."

*

Clarke calls his cell for the first time the next day when he's on his lunch break; Bellamy's not sure if it's a sign something is horribly wrong, or just that they've become better friends.

They have, he knows. She hung around yesterday and completely crushed him at Smash Brothers until Octavia got back and proceeded to crush them both at Mario Kart. She kissed his cheek when she left, and Octavia gave him a pointed look that he chose to ignore.

"Everything okay?" he asks when he picks up, and then winces, because, god, was he raised in a barn? At least no one's here to see him.

"Good question. You haven't heard?"

"Heard what?"

She lets out a long breath. "I was stupid, I brought my own car to your place. Someone got pictures of me leaving, and of _you_ , and I'm really sorry. There's some stupid post on Gawker about my small-town hottie."

"Small-town hottie?"

"I'm so sorry. They got your name too. You haven't had anyone come by?"

He shrugs. "We've been busy, but no more people than usual asking about you."

She makes a choked noise. "How many people usually ask about me?"

"You come in almost every day and hang out with me in bars. Everyone knows we're friends. I've gotten like fifty requests for your autograph, and way more for your number."

She considers this for a while. "You don't seem worried."

"About what?"

"Media attention, photos of yourself on the internet, people asking you about the nature of our relationship?"

"I'll tell them we're friends."

She huffs an awkward laugh. "You make it sound so easy."

"Well, we are."

"Yeah." She sighs. "I'll tell them it was the anniversary of my father's death and I didn't want to be alone. That should shame at least a couple of them."

"That's the spirit."

"I am sorry, Bellamy, really. I should have thought--"

"I don't care," he says. "Seriously." He considers, but then has to add, "Don't do something stupid, like deciding to avoid me so I won't have to deal with this, okay? Tell them we're dating, for all I care, but I expect to see you at the bar tonight."

The choked noise again--it might be a laugh. "Okay. Thanks."

She hangs up before he can ask what she thinks she needs to thank him for.

He looks up the pictures on his phone and discovers there are a decent number of candids of her in Arcadia already, even outside of his store. It shouldn't surprise him, but it's still weird, seeing shots of her walking down his streets like it's news. There at least aren't any of her in those sweats from the other day; he might have murdered whoever took them.

The ones of him are boring. It's him leaving for work this morning in a button-down and jeans, nothing incriminating. There's a blurry one of them together at the bar too, but it's just the backs of their heads as they chat, and if he didn't know it was them he wouldn't be convinced.

_Sources say Griffin has been spending a lot of time with Bellamy Blake, a 28-year-old bookstore owner. The two have been spotted together frequently at Tondici, the bar where Blake's younger sister works, and Griffin gets her coffee from Blake's store whenever possible. Staff declined to comment on the nature of their relationship._

He finds Miller behind the counter and says, "Did someone ask if I was dating Clarke?"

Miller gives him a deeply unimpressed look, the kind only Miller can pull off properly. "Dude, _everyone's_ asked if you're dating Clarke."

*

Raven texts around five: _change in plans, movie night @ our place, gotta keep b &c on the down low_

Bellamy replies to the whole group with _Too late, but thanks for your concern_ , and then, to just Clarke, _This is how she shows affection_.

She knows she shouldn't go. Lexa would tell her not to go. Monroe would tell her not to go. Wells would tell her not to go. Her mother would probably even tell her not to go. But she's been ignoring all their calls since the Bellamy article went live, so why would she start listening to them now?

Raven greets her with, "Are there paps outside? Are they gonna think you're cheating on Bellamy with me?"

Clarke has to laugh. "I think you're safe. Unless you're into that, in which case we should go make out outside the bar."

"Hey, I've never been in a love triangle, it sounds exciting." She cocks her head at Clarke. "You okay? Bellamy told us you had a shitty weekend."

"He did?"

Raven rolls her eyes. "He can't turn off protective mode. He showed up early to field questions so you wouldn't have to."

"Oh. Is that sweet or weird?"

"It's Bellamy, so both. Seriously, do you need anything? Just let us know."

"I'm good. But thanks--really."

She's the last to arrive, so the living room is already full, Monty, Jasper, and Miller sharing one couch, Lincoln, Octavia, and Lincoln's friend Indra on another, with Bellamy sitting on the floor in front of his sister, letting her put his hair into little braids. He turns to look at Clarke when she comes in, a slow, easy smile blossoming on his face, all fondness, and she suddenly can't quite breathe.

 _Oh_ , she thinks.

It's been a long time since she was interested in someone. Since Lexa, really, because she liked Wells, sure, but she never quite got to _liking_ him before that went wrong. She feels sixteen again, or maybe younger, before everything started feeling so heavy all the time.

He raises his eyebrows when she doesn't move, so she goes to sit next to him, too close, but he lifts his arm up so she can slot into his side like he doesn't even know he's doing it. She refuses to feel weird about settling in against him.

"Some paparazzi called, so I just pretended I didn't speak English," he says.

"What did you pretend to speak instead?"

"Tagalog."

She giggles into his shoulder. "Yeah, that probably scared them off."

He puts his arm around her and gives her a soft squeeze, and she lets her eyes drift shut, relaxing for the first time all day.

She wakes up slowly; someone's hand is carding gently through her hair, and she hears the soft sound of voices. If they were watching a movie, it's over.

"I could take a picture of you two and get totally rich," Wick is saying.

"It'd just be a question of if me or Raven broke your fingers first." She can feel the rumble of Bellamy's voice as he speaks, and it's--nice.

"I'll do it," says Raven. "You've got your hands full, Bell."

"You sure you don't want a picture for a keepsake? How many times are you going to have a beautiful movie star sleeping on you?"

"I think I'll remember this," Bellamy says, dry. "Besides, phones get hacked, right? It'd be bad for her."

"You are the biggest big brother of all time," says Raven.

"Pretty sure he's not thinking fraternal thoughts right now," says Jasper.

"Jasper," says Octavia, a warning, and then there's a yelp, so Clarke assumes someone hit him. Probably Miller.

It's as good a reason to pretend to get up as any. She makes a little show of waking--it's not the first time she's had to act like she was asleep--stirring and then blinking her eyes open. She catches a quick glimpse of Bellamy's glare at Jasper, and then he's smiling down at her, and she feels warmth spreading through her chest.

Yeah, it's just like being twelve again with her first crush, following Anya around like a lost puppy. Not that Anya smiled at her much.

"Sorry," she tells the group, sitting up a little so she's not quite so draped all over Bellamy. "My call was at five am today. I didn't mean to fall asleep on you guys."

"It's cool," says Wick. "You just fell asleep on Bellamy. The rest of us were spared."

"Jasper should be sorry for waking you up," Bellamy says.

"Miller should be sorry for hitting me!"

"You deserved it," says Raven.

"You _always_ deserve it," says Indra.

"Everyone's a critic," he says, with a huff. But he adds, "Sorry, Clarke."

"It's okay. I should be getting home anyway. I've got early call again tomorrow." She gets up and cracks her neck, smiling a little when Monty winces. She's the best at neck cracking, for sure.

"How did you get here?" Bellamy asks, frowning.

"Walked."

He gets up too. "You're not walking back to your hotel alone, it's not safe--"

"Not safe?"

He flushes. "It's dark."

"Oh for--" says Octavia, getting up herself. "I'll take her home, Bell." She rolls her eyes at Clarke. "He never lets me walk after dark. He bought me a car just so I didn't have to walk like _five blocks_ after work in high school."

"I can take her," says Bellamy.

"No, you can't, because some scummy reporters think you're dating her. I'll do it."

Clarke thinks about protesting, but reconsiders immediately. Getting in the middle of a Blake argument is probably unsafe. So she just says, "That would be great, Octavia. Thanks."

In the car, they're mostly quiet, until Octavia asks, "How much longer are you filming?"

"About a month and a half, if everything stays on schedule."

Octavia nods and lapses back into silence, and Clarke can't help feeling like it was the wrong answer.

*

"I'm just worried about you."

Bellamy had successfully avoided Octavia after she took Clarke home, and she wasn't awake when he left for work. He almost skipped the bar, but he has nothing else to do tonight, and he thinks that letting Octavia give him the lecture she clearly wants to is probably better than giving himself a similar lecture at home. At least it's more efficient. 

"You haven't dated in forever, so I want to be happy for you, but--"

"There's nothing to be happy for me about," he can't help pointing out. "Nothing's happening."

She rolls her eyes. "You know that's not what I was going to say."

"I know. But it's still true."

"I like her, but she's only here for another month, and then she goes back to being an ultra-huge movie star."

He can't help wondering if that's really true. They never exactly resolved their conversation about her career, but it's easy to see she's not happy. She needs a change.

But moving to Arcadia to date a guy who owns a bookstore probably isn't what she's looking for.

"I just don't want you to get hurt," says Octavia, and he has to smile.

"That's my line, O."

"I'm serious."

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. It's getting shaggy. "Look, I'm not an idiot, okay? I know all this. I know nothing's going to happen. You don't have to worry about me."

She gives him a look that could strip paint and starts to reply, but the door opens before she can go off on another rant. "Speak of the devil," she says instead, and he turns to see Clarke, followed by a crowd of other people. He recognizes a few of the other stars from the film, and assumes the rest are other cast and crew. They head to the other side of the bar; Octavia goes to meet them, and Clarke breaks away to come see him.

"Sorry," she says, making a face. "They wanted to go out, and I wanted Octavia to get the tips."

"Why--" he starts, but her costar--John Murphy, he's pretty sure--drapes over Clarke's shoulders and gives him a singularly unimpressed look.

"This is your local flavor? Seriously?"

Clarke shoves him off with a glare. "Fuck off, Murphy. Just because you don't have friends doesn't mean no one does." 

Bellamy wonders idly if there are rumors of on-set hostilities between Clarke and Murphy. Maybe he should start some. He's excited to potentially see her kick the guy's ass.

"I'm just saying, if you're just looking for some action, you could probably do better."

"Dude," says Bellamy mildly. "I'm right here."

"Go away, Murphy." He looks like he's going to argue, try to rile her up more, but Clarke steps between him and Bellamy, all cold fury. "Seriously, I know you think you're a badass, but only one of us has been in jail for assault, so I wouldn't be too cocky if I were you."

Murphy's got a good few inches on Clarke, but Bellamy wouldn't even think about betting on him in this fight. Murphy must come to the same conclusion, because he mutters a terse, "Whatever," and backs off.

Clarke slumps into the seat next to him. "Sorry. He's been a dick ever since I told him I wasn't into costars with benefits. I'm sick of him, but I feel bad never going out with everyone else, so--here we are."

"Don't worry about it. No one's ever fought for my honor before. It's pretty cool."

She laughs. "I aim to please. I'm probably going to play darts with the people I actually _like_ , in case you get bored and want to join us."

"I'll probably head out soon," he says. "Early day tomorrow, as usual."

She frowns a little, but doesn't protest. "Then I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

It's probably too late for any kind of meaningful self-preservation, and he wants her to smile. "I could probably stay for one game," he hedges. 

Octavia looks wholly unimpressed when he walks by, but really, what else is new?

*

Clarke has the day off, so she finally calls Lexa (who has a lot of opinions on Bellamy, based on extensive google-stalking), and then Wells (who was a few days late on checking in on her about her dad), and finally her mother. Bellamy lets her make the call in his staff room, so she has privacy and backup if she needs it.

It's still early in California, but Abby always gets up early.

"I was starting to worry about you," says her mother, without preamble. "Did you lose your phone?"

"I've been busy."

"New boyfriend?" she asks, and Clarke breathes in and out, slow. 

"It's just a dumb rumor. It'll blow over in a few days."

"It will blow over sooner. Marcus and I are issuing the press release at nine."

She can't breathe for a second.

"That's why I was trying so hard to get in touch."

"Oh, of course," she says, trying to keep her voice even. "You didn't want to call because it's been _ten years_ since--"

"Clarke" she says, gentle, "you know I love your father, and I miss him every day, but it's been ten years. If we don't announce it soon, it's going to leak." Abby pauses. "You knew this was coming. And this story will--"

"Don't try to pretend this will be good for me," she snaps. "Everyone's going to want my opinion, I'm going to be even more in the spotlight." 

"When are you coming home?" her mother asks, after another long pause. Their conversations are more silence than speech these days. "I hate doing this over the phone. Are you still coming to Thelonious' benefit next weekend? Wells said you were."

She closes her eyes, resting her head against the wall. She'd forgotten all about it, but Monroe booked the tickets, and she promised. "Yeah, I'll be there. The press release is at nine?"

"Here, yes. Noon for you."

She should probably leave, not be in public for this, but being alone in her hotel room when the calls start sounds about as bad as being at Bellamy's store, just for different reasons.

All her options are shitty. She calls Lexa again.

"He was in the classics society in high school," she says immediately.

"They're announcing the engagement."

Lexa swears in French, rather creatively. "When?"

"An hour. My mother claims it will take attention off me." She takes a few deep breaths. "She always does this. She does whatever she wants and tries to convince herself it's good for me too."

"Do you want me to fly to Virginia? Or to LA to punch your mother?"

Clarke laughs. "No, if anyone punches her, it's going to be me. Did I tell you I threatened to kick Murphy's ass last night?"

"That's remarkable restraint, I would have done it much sooner."

It's probably best not to mention she was protecting Bellamy; Lexa would never let that go. "Well, I try to be professional while we're working," she says.

"So, what's your plan?"

"I haven't decided. I should go back to my hotel, but I'd rather be here."

"Where? On set?"

She realizes her mistake, but it's too late. "I'm in the staff room at my not-boyfriend's bookstore."

Lexa's still laughing when Clarke hangs up on her.

* 

Bellamy takes his lunch break a little early; he hasn't heard from Clarke since she called her mother, and he's a little worried. She's still in the back room, glued to her phone. He grabs his lunch and sits down next to her. "How'd it go?"

"My mom's getting married."

He pauses, unsure. "Congratulations?"

"I knew they were engaged. That's another reason I took this movie. I didn't know how to be there with her." She scrubs at her face. "I know it's unfair. It's not like I want her to be miserable and alone for the rest of her life. But she's engaged to Marcus Kane, the same guy she was going to marry before she met my dad. It's like she's just erasing twenty-five years of her life." She gives him a wry smile. "I know that's horribly unfair, selfish, and inaccurate, you don't have to tell me."

"I wasn't going to say it."

"Anyway, the press release goes live at noon, and then I'm probably going to get a billion calls asking me how I feel about it, and I have to figure out what to tell them."

"That you're happy for her," says Bellamy. "That's not a hard one."

"I have to make it sound convincing."

"Can't you just do a press release or something? That's a famous person thing, right?"

"Yeah, I had my assistant write something up. But they'll still call." She gives him a wry smile. "You know she tried to tell me this would help? Take some attention off my mystery man."

He snorts. "Am I really a mystery if they know my name, address, and where I work? I'm solved."

"You know what I mean. She thinks the focus will be on her, conveniently forgetting that everyone's going to want to hear my response. Especially since I reminded them it was just the anniversary of my dad's death." She leans forward and puts her head down on the table. " _The road to hell is paved with good intentions_ should be on our family crest."

He puts his hand on her back and starts rubbing slowly without quite intending to do it; he's going to stop once he realizes, but she makes a happy noise and some of the tension actually seems to be leaving her back, which feels vaguely miraculous. "Can I do anything?"

"You're helping," she says. "You've been great, seriously. I really appreciate it."

"You need it. You're kind of a mess."

"I know, right? It's pathetic."

Her phone starts playing a song he doesn't know. A girl is asking if they're out of the woods yet, which seems like a good question.

"Who's that?"

"Default ring." She raises her head and frowns. "Probably a paparazzo who found my number. I don't even know the area code."

"You could turn it off."

"I'm still trying to figure out where I want to go. I should have gone back to my hotel before the news hit, but I didn't want to be alone. But now that means I'm going to be with you."

"And that's bad?"

"More gossip about my local flavor," she says.

"So what?" He can't help being annoyed about this part; it feels like _he's_ stressing her out, but he can't do anything about it. 

"I hate when the media tries to get involved in my personal life." She looks over at him. "I tried dating my friend Wells a few months ago. He asked me out, we got dinner a few times. I wasn't really sure I was interested in him like that, but I figured I'd give it a try. Some pap saw us on our second date and took a bunch of pictures and then--he told them about our next one. He said it was win-win, since we liked each other and being seen together was a publicity boost for both of us. I kind of lost it at him." She smiles. "And now you know all three reasons I ran out of LA like I was on fire."

"And you don't actually like it," he points out.

She smiles. "Also that." She rests her head on her arms and watches him, eyes steady and bright. "Tell me more about you. Every time we hang out, I feel like I have a breakdown and you just nod and pet me. Which is--I really appreciate it, seriously, but it feels kind of unfair."

"I've pretty much dealt with my issues by now," he says. He pulls his sandwich out of his bag and offers her half, smiling when she accepts. "My dad was never in the picture. As far as I know he's alive, but--it was always just me and my mom, and then O. Our mom got sick when I was a senior in high school. I was praying she lived until I turned eighteen." He makes a face. "God, that sounds fucked up. But I didn't want Octavia to go into foster care. She died three weeks after my birthday, and I managed to get custody. I worked here all through high school anyway, and after Mom died, the previous owner hired me full time, and then sold it to me incredibly cheap when he wanted to retire. I'm not rolling in it, but I got Octavia through high school and community college, and we're doing pretty well these days."

"How'd you meet Raven and Wick and everyone?"

"Me and Wick and Miller were in high school together. Wick's a year older, but we always got along. Raven was his next door neighbor, they fought all the time, and then she went to visit her grandmother in Mexico one summer and came back four inches taller and hot as hell and Wick nearly died. She knew Monty and Jasper from being really into making things explode, so we got them too. And Octavia tagged along."

"Are you in Wick's band?"

He laughs. "Drummer, yeah."

"Are you terrible?"

"The worst."

"The worst in the band, or the worst drummer globally?"

"Worst drummer globally. I think Wick is probably the worst in the band? He can kind of play guitar, but he's also our lead singer and he really shouldn't be. He's, uh--there aren't words for how bad he is. Miller plays bass, he's actually pretty good, but you can't tell because me and Wick drown him out. And Monty plays triangle. Not with any kind of regularity, he has no rhythm, just whenever he feels like it, he'll put in some triangle."

Clarke's giggling, and Bellamy feels pretty awesome that he got that happening. "Can I come watch you guys play sometime?"

"I'm not sure. I feel like you kind of respect me right now, I don't want to ruin that."

"I don't respect you that much."

He snorts. "Well, in that case, sure. Raven's out of town this weekend, so Wick is making us practice so he won't be lonely. I can give you a ride."

Her face twists up at that, and Bellamy wants to punch something. "Probably a bad idea."

"Would it be better if you just said we _were_ dating?" he asks. "It's not news that I'm giving you rides and hanging out with you if we're together. It's normal. No more Gawker analyzing pictures of our backs, right? One less thing for you to stress about."

She bites her lip, looking at him. "They'll still take pictures."

"Yeah, but you can stop worrying about protecting my virtue. I don't care." He looks over at the door, making sure no one else is around, but he's pretty sure the staff are giving them privacy. It's sweet, sort of. "Look, I'll just walk you out, give you a kiss, and everyone will get what they want, right? Photographic proof Clarke Griffin is slumming it with some guy who owns a bookstore. And then every other picture of you on this trip will be way less exciting, and we can just hang out like normal friends."

He's not convinced it's a plan that makes sense, but he wants her to not worry about being seen at the store again, to not mind leaving her car outside the bar or his house. 

And he might want to kiss her. A little.

She's looking at her with calculation in her eyes, and he wonders if she's seeing her friend Wells, telling some paparazzi where to find them on a date. But then she smiles and closes her eyes, like she's going to fall asleep on his staff room table. "Yeah, that probably couldn't hurt."

"Are you taking a nap?" he asks. "You're always falling asleep around me. Should I be insulted?"

"You're relaxing," she says, and he's glad her eyes are closed, because he flushes bright red.

He wakes her up after his break, and she takes his hand as they go out into the store, lacing their fingers together. "Are you going to be at Tondici tonight?" she asks, all casual.

"Probably," he says. He hopes he doesn't sound as uncool as he feels. He's fucking twenty-eight; he should not be this unnerved by _holding hands_.

"Okay, cool, I'll see you then." She leans up and presses her lips to his, soft and sweet and way too brief. He nearly catches her and pulls her back for a better kiss, but he stops himself with an effort. "Bye, Bell."

It's the first time she's called him by his nickname. He tries not to gape, but there's photographic evidence; Raven texts him a picture she finds of him on Gawker with the message _you look like someone hit you with a 2x4_.

He doesn't respond, but she's not wrong.

*

A few reporters follow her out of Bellamy's, shouting questions, but Clarke ignores them, and they don't dare follow her into her hotel, which has actual security. She doubts kissing Bellamy really increased their number any, so it was probably fine, as choices go.

She calls Monroe as soon as she gets into her room. They tend to prefer texting; Clarke hates the phone and Monroe likes written proof that Clarke is being unhelpful. But this is definitely a phone situation.

"Oh god, what did you do?" asks Monroe. "Did you punch a reporter? Which one? I think Cage Wallace is in town, please tell me it was him. You only get to punch one reporter, you should make it count."

"I kissed my fake boyfriend."

"Jesus," says Monroe. "You're going to give me so many gray hairs. Are you trying to one-up your mother? You don't pay me enough to get involved in your Freudian bullshit."

"He thought it would make the reporters less interested in him, and it'd be less noteworthy if I was at his house or whatever."

"And what were _you_ thinking?"

Clarke flips back on her bed. If her smile is goofy and love struck, at least no one is around to see it. "I just really wanted to kiss him."

Monroe heaves a long sigh. "So, what's my comment on this?"

"Officially, no comment. Unofficially, tell a couple people it's new and we're figuring stuff out but I like him, blah blah."

"So, unofficially, the truth?"

Clarke scowls. "Not the truth. We're friends."

"Uh huh. Any update on what I should be saying about your mother?"

"That I'm happy for her."

"And unofficially?"

"I'm _very_ happy for her."

"You are driving me to an early grave."

"I love you too."

She naps for a while, fitfully, as usual, until she's woken by her phone playing "Fuck You." 

"Hi, Marcus."

"Your mother wanted me to check in."

"Awkward."

He laughs, because Marcus is somewhere, down deep, the kind of guy she'd probably like, if not for all their weird history. "I'm putting in a token effort, all right?"

"My call log will reflect your good intentions."

"How's Virginia?"

"Quiet."

"That's good. How's Lexa?"

"Trying not to murder her way through Paris. So far, so good, I think."

"How many reporters?"

"About five asking me for statements after your announcement. They'd been keeping a low profile before that."

"Considerate of them. I would have thought they wanted the scoop on your summer romance."

"I let them get pictures of us kissing. They should be thanking me."

He pauses, faltering for the first time. "So it's an actual summer romance?"

"No comment."

Marcus laughs. "Of course not. Listen--we really are sorry about the timing of all this. It's the way it worked for our schedules, you know how hard this can be."

Clarke makes very few public announcements about her life, but she remembers it from childhood, her parents trying to plan things and always running into complications.

"I'll see you guys next weekend," she says. "Mom and I do better in person."

"That's sort of like saying breaking your arm is doing better than breaking your neck."

Clarke smiles reluctantly. "Congratulations to you both."

She has a text from Octavia when she hangs up. _u break my brother u buy him_. 

She looks at the message for a long time, trying to figure out what to say, and finally settles on _How much is he?_

 _u can afford him_.

She figures that's got to be true.

*

"Wow."

Bellamy accepts the bottle of water Clarke's offering with a laugh. "I tried to warn you."

"I thought Wick was joking about the police part."

"I never joke about police intervention," says Wick. Clarke salutes him, and he offers her his fist for a bump. "Yeah, you get it. You're the one who beat up a cop."

She laughs. "One punch. Hardly a beating."

"Still would have gotten shot if you weren't a rich white girl," Miller comments, and Clarke inclines her head toward him.

"Definitely true." She looks back at Bellamy. "So what comes after the noise complaints?"

"Beer and Smash Brothers, generally. You want in? Monty and Miller are actually good, you'll have some competition."

She grins like a fucking shark. "Bring it."

He'd thought things would be more different after the kiss, although some things have been. Reporters actually try to get statements from him now, and he dismisses them with a cheerful, "Sorry, busy," if he's not at work and book recommendations if he is. One of them actually bought _Seraphina_ when he told her it had awesome dragons, so she's his favorite of them by default.

Clarke's been the same as ever, hanging out in the bar and the bookstore, exhaustion lurking around her eyes. She doesn't kiss him every time she leaves the store, but she'll squeeze his hand or peck him on the cheek sometimes, and she's almost certainly going to break his heart.

It's not like he's excited about it, but the alternative is not spending all the time he can with her while he has the chance. And that's just unacceptable.

They settle in on the loveseat while Wick, Miller, and Monty take the couch. They only have four controllers, so he sits out the first round, letting Wick have the honor of first ass-kicking. Monty, Miller, and Clarke all know a lot of moves with a lot of characters and can do all the complicated things that are beyond Bellamy, like "using the attack they actually meant to use."

Wick plays Ness and only knows how to use PK Fire. It's not really a strategy, per se, but it's what he can do.

Clarke loses after five games to a combination of unlucky falls and Wick being _so bad_ that she doesn't actually know how to deal with him. She's asleep on Bellamy before the next game is even over.

"Do you ever get offended that she falls asleep on you all the time?" Monty asks.

"I think it's a compliment. It means she's comfortable. She looks like she never gets enough sleep."

"So you should just tell her your bed is available whenev--" Wick starts, and Miller elbows him hard.

"Welcome to _How to Make a Girl Stop Feeling Comfortable Around You 101_ with Kyle Wick," says Monty, and Miller grins at him. They've been together for over a year, and it's still kind of a revelation to Bellamy every time Monty makes Miller grin. He didn't really know Miller's mouth did that.

"As the only person here with a girlfriend, I think I'm actually the expert," says Wick.

"Their relationship is a lot healthier than yours," says Bellamy. "Are we playing, or what?"

Clarke's phone wakes her up about twenty minutes later, with a song off _All Hail West Texas_ , but he can't recall the name. He tries not to be into her liking The Mountain Goats, like he's not already gone.

"I should take this," she says vaguely, and stumbles off the couch toward the garage. She returns a few minutes later, looking more awake; Bellamy's just died, so he gives her his controller and remaining lives. She'll definitely make better use of them than he would.

"Everything okay?" asks Monty.

"My friend Wells," she says, taking advantage of Monty's concern to murder him in the game. "Making sure I'll be in LA this weekend." Bellamy feels his whole body go rigid, and Clarke must feel it too, because she leans into him, just a little. "His dad is throwing a charity gala, I promised I'd go. Just for a couple days. But no one believes me, I keep getting calls to make sure I'm really going back."

"And you are?"

"My mom and I get along slightly better in person. And I promised." 

It's stupid to be relieved. She's still leaving in a month anyway. But he really, really wants that month.

*

Monroe is waiting for her at LAX with a sign that says _The Cause of All My Problems_ ; Clarke grins and gives her a big hug.

"I missed you too."

Monroe regards her critically. "You look happy," she says, like an accusation. "You aren't actually getting laid, are you?"

"Nope," says Clarke. 

"God, imagine how happy you'd be if you were."

"Let's not get too carried away."

She texts Bellamy and Raven that she's arrived safely and settles into the passenger seat of Monroe's car. Traffic is horrific, as always, and Monroe spends half the time swearing and sticking her middle finger out the window. It's not a shock to discover she hasn't missed LA at all, but it's a little surprising that she doesn't have any feeling of homecoming. The realization makes her gut twist up.

"Lexa picked out your dress, and everything for you to wear with it, from Paris," says Monroe, when they get to Clarke's condo. "She said you can't be trusted to dress yourself. Related, she's my personal hero."

"Mine too," she says, absent. "Am I going in a limo?"

"Of course. I can't just drive you everywhere. You don't pay me enough."

"I could pay you more."

"Just take the damn limo. I told the driver he's not allowed to take you home until after midnight, so don't even try to stay for an hour and then leave. I'm onto you."

Clarke plays with the hem of the dress Lexa sent; it's perfect, of course. "I'm thinking about quitting," she says. Having the words out there in the world feels strange, too big.

Monroe freezes. "Quitting what?"

"Living in LA," she says. "Maybe acting. My entire life? I haven't got the details sorted out yet."

Monroe sinks into a chair. "You like Virginia that much?"

"You're the one who thinks I'm finally happy."

That gets her a contemplative look, so long it makes her fidget. Then Monroe nods. "Well, you know, keep me posted. I can check real estate listings if you want. Whatever you need."

"Nothing's finalized," she says. "I'm not sure."

But it feels like something's shifted all the same.

She gets changed and lets her limo take her over to the gala, which is already in full swing. She poses on the carpet and gets the questions she expected--how's the movie going, who are you wearing, where's the new man, any thoughts on your mother's engagement--but escapes fairly quickly without any punches thrown or tears shed.

Inside, she runs into Wells first. He's got Harper with him, although she doesn't know if it's a _date_ , or just a power-in-numbers arrangement.

She hugs them both and Harper tells her how good she looks, with the same vaguely accusatory tone Monroe had, like she's both surprised and upset that Virginia is going so well for her. It's a little funny; a month and a half out of LA and the whole world can see how much better she's doing.

She wonders how long she'd have to stay to undo it all; she can already feel her smiles getting more brittle, her nights getting more restless. It had better be more than two days and a night--the last thing she wants is to get home looking like she did when she first turned up there.

She misses whatever Wells is saying, too shocked by the revelation that Arcadia is _home_ now to pay attention. "Sorry, what?"

"I thought you might bring the boyfriend," he says. It's a different kind of accusatory, and her jaw tightens.

"I didn't ask for a plus one. Besides, I wouldn't want to ask him to fly all the way to LA for a party he wouldn't even like."

He probably would have said yes, though. If she'd asked him, he would have rolled his eyes and teased her and told her she was buying his plane ticket, but he would have come. And he'd look great in a tux.

"So he really is a boyfriend?" Harper asks.

Clarke shrugs, lets her face go a little goofy, like it always wants to when she talks about him. "He's something."

"Have you seen your mom yet?" Wells asks.

"Not yet. I should probably go find her. She's been excited to see me in person."

"I'll notify security," he says, with a smile. "Just so they're prepared."

It's a peace-offering of a joke, and she accepts it. "Please. I'll find you guys later. Or you can find me. I'll be at the bar."

Her mother and Marcus are with Thelonious; Clarke accepts a hug from him and another round of "you look so wonderful!" before she goes to Abby.

"Hey," she says, snagging a champagne flute from a passing waiter. "Congrats on the engagement."

"Clarke!" Abby's smile is a little too wide, but still genuine. "You look lovely. I thought Lexa wasn't here to dress you."

"She works remotely now. She texted Monroe very detailed instructions. Monroe would totally marry her tomorrow if she was willing."

"Hey, kiddo," says Marcus, offering his hand for her to shake. He's always called her that, and it's been long enough that it stopped being awkward and patronizing and swung back around to affectionate. "Are you getting a tan?"

"I doubt it. There's way more sun in California than Virginia."

"Well, you look good."

"So I keep hearing."

"How's filming going? Have you stabbed John Murphy yet?" Abby asks.

She has to smile at that. They are better in person. But she thinks they're also better after they've been apart. "No, but I had to remind him I was the one who'd actually been arrested for assault and he didn't want to mess with me. Luckily, he agreed. It would have been a pain for makeup if I broke his nose."

"Does he have shirtless scenes?" asks Marcus. When she shakes her head, he says, "Then go for the ribs."

"Has the press been too bad out there?"

"They're getting bored of me, I'm pretty sure. I hang out at a bookstore and don't get fall-down drunk. They decided to tail Murphy until I start throwing punches or having public sex."

"And the--young man?" Abby asks, all awkward diplomacy. "Blake?"

"Bellamy. Blake's his last name. He's just a friend, but we actually get more privacy pretending he's not."

"Hmm."

"How's it been here?"

"Crazy, as always," says Marcus. "I'm heading up to Vancouver in a few days, doing a big guest spot as a serial killer. Very exciting."

"And you'll be back next month, right?" asks Abby. "I sent some invitations along to Monroe for events."

"That's when filming wraps, yeah."

If Abby notices that isn't the same as _I'll be back_ , she doesn't comment on it.

*

Bellamy finds a few pictures of Clarke at the gala, looking completely gorgeous and utterly out-of-his-league in a midnight blue gown, and then feels like a stalker creep. He spends the rest of his afternoon at work, even though he's not on schedule, just for something to do. He can tell Fox and Atom want to strangle him for hanging out, reorganizing things that don't need reorganizing, but he's their boss, so they can't stop him.

Clarke calls around five, right after she lands, and he tries not to feel awesome about it.

"Hey, you back?"

"At the airport. My car's dead. Wick's coming to get it, but I was hoping you could maybe pick me up? I'm not sure I can deal with an hour of one-on-one with him right now."

"Yeah, of course. I'll be right there."

"In an hour," she says, amused.

"In an hour," he grants.

Clarke is sitting on the curb playing with her phone when he gets there, wearing a worn t-shirt that says _Chemists do it periodically on tables_ and men's cargo shorts, with her hair in a messy ponytail.

He's probably not going to survive her leaving.

"Hey, did Wick already get the Frankenmobile?"

"The preferred term is Frankencar, but yeah." She smiles at him. "Thanks for coming."

"No problem. I was terrorizing my employees. They're very grateful I left."

"That's me, always helping." She settles into the passenger seat and gives him a wry smile. "I'm going to do my best to not fall asleep."

"Didn't you wake up at like--six? In another time zone? I don't care." He catches himself before he can add something stupid, like _I'm just glad you're back_. She was barely gone. But it still feels surreal that she's here at all, most of the time. He almost didn't think he'd see her again. That she'd just disappear, as suddenly as she came.

She does fall asleep, of course, and doesn't wake up until they're most of the way home and her phone starts playing "Uptown Funk." 

"Hey, Raven," she says, yawning. "How's it look? No, I didn't leave the lights on, I swear. It's just a piece of shit. Yeah, Bell's got me. I'll come check on it tomorrow. Thanks again." She hangs up and smiles at him. "I really was going to stay awake."

"Sure you were." He drums his fingers on the wheel. "So, do I have a ringtone?" he asks. He's been cataloging all her custom ones.

To his surprise, she turns bright red. "Yeah, um. "Boa Constrictor.""

He snorts. "Sounds kind of ominous."

She wets her lips and then pulls up her contacts, scrolling to his name and selecting the ring tone. There's a twanging guitar intro, and then a woman's voice, not anyone he can identify: _I spend my evenings alone, talking to your picture, babe. Love is wrapped around my heart like a boa constrictor, babe._

Clarke isn't looking at him, and he's putting most of his effort into not accidentally driving off the road. It's short and strange and--her ringtone. For _him_.

"I like picking ringtones," she says, hesitant and faltering. "It's--I did Lexa first. She's--"

"Short Skirt, Long Jacket," says Bellamy.

"Yeah. You haven't met her, but--yeah. That's her. My mom's, um, "Grace Kelly." Sometimes it's just a line or two that makes me choose it. _Why don't you like me without making me try?_ And Raven's, well." She flashes a grin, but down at her hands, like she still can't look at him. "Hot damn." He laughs, and she tucks her hair behind her ear. "Yours is kind of--I really hate crushes, I was having trouble picking anything positive. But I like the Magnetic Fields for you. In general." She laughs softly. "In retrospect it's kind of, um, creepy. But I didn't think anyone was ever going to hear it. It's not like you ever call me."

He can't breathe for a second. When he can he says, "What's your default one?" because that is the appropriate response when the girl you like tells you she hates having a crush. On _you_. "The woods one."

"Um, Taylor Swift. "Out of the Woods." The chorus, obviously."

"I like that one." He rubs the back of his neck. "I, um--"

"You don't have to say anything," she says, quickly. "It's not, like. A thing."

He huffs a laugh. "I was going to ask if you wanted to come over to my place and make out."

She laughs too, sudden and bright and happy, and he kind of wants to pull over to make out right now.

"Yeah?" she asks.

"Yeah, I--god. Yes."

She finally looks up at him, and he has to remind himself he's _driving_ and cannot just stare at her, even if he really wants to. Even if she has the best smile of all time.

"That would be good."

She pulls up the Taylor Swift song on her phone and plays the whole thing for him; he still likes it.

*

Bellamy waits until they're inside to touch her, but as soon as the door is closed he kisses her, hard and desperate, like he's been holding back for a while. Clarke wraps her arms around him and kisses back, just as fierce, needing to be close. She can barely remember the last time she felt like this, all adrenaline and want and affection, all excitement and passion, the giddy feeling that the boy she likes likes her too.

His hands find her hips, thumbs pushing just under the hem of her shirt, and he starts tugging her into the house before pulling back and laughing softly. He's grinning at her, and it takes her a second to figure out that he's talking, and that's why they're not kissing anymore.

"I, uh, I don't know where we're going," he's saying. "But we can probably make out somewhere better than the hallway."

She laughs. "Is Octavia here?"

"Shit, I don't even know." He doesn't let go of her, but kind of twists around to yell, "Hey, O, are you here?"

She giggles helplessly into his neck. "I never really went to high school or anything, but this feels like how movies told me hooking up in high school is supposed to be."

"You're like an alien," he says fondly. "Learning all our human customs from pop culture. O, come on, last chance!" There's still no answer, and Bellamy turns back to her with a grin. "If she's here, she deserves whatever she gets. Couch?"

Clarke rubs her thumb against the back of his neck. He's looking at her, steady and sweet, a smile stuck on his face. This is _Bellamy_.

"I liked your bed," she offers. And then, because she can't help being honest, "But it's been a while."

Bellamy smiles. "Yeah, me too." He takes her hand and tugs her toward the stairs. "You gonna fall asleep on me?"

She laughs. "Definitely."

"I figured," he says. "Finally get the girl and I just put her to sleep." He kisses her again when they get into his room, slower and deeper, like he knows he has time now. Clarke's the one who pushes him toward the bed, and she ends up in his lap, with one of his hands up her shirt, splayed against her back. "Just tell me if you change your mind, okay?" he murmurs, nuzzling under her jaw. His stubble rasps against her neck, making her shiver. 

"You too," says Clarke, and he laughs.

"I'm pretty sure I'm good." He tugs on her shirt a little, teasing. "Why do you have this shirt? Big chemistry fan?"

"Gift from Lexa. She impulse-buys dumb shirts online when she's drunk."

"Sounds--interesting."

Clarke licks her lips and pulls Bellamy's shirt off. "That was my last actual relationship. Three years ago."

"This is an actual relationship?" he asks, and she freezes. "I didn't mean--I wanted to make sure _you_ wanted, of course I--" He cards his hand through his hair, looking so distressed she can't help laughing softly.

"This is an actual relationship," she says, and kisses him.

"Good."

He pulls her shirt off and falls back on the bed, pulling her on top of him. He's warm and solid beneath her, hands wandering down her back and into her shorts so he can grope her ass. "You dress like a douchey frat boy," he tells her.

"That's what I was going for."

"Mission accomplished."

She slides her hands up his chest, trying to get closer. "How did I not know you were this ripped? You don't look this ripped."

"I don't like to brag."

"I'm pretty sure you do."

He laughs and pulls her in so she can grind against his leg. "Okay, so I didn't realize you didn't know. Obviously I should have found excuses to be shirtless around you."

"Obviously."

He rolls them over so he's on top of her and kisses her, deep and long. "What do you want?"

The full answer is long and embarrassing and probably way too much for their first--whatever. "Just you," she settles on, and he snorts.

"Very romantic," he teases. "Not actually that helpful." He kisses her neck and nips softly. "I'm looking for directions, not sweet talk."

She fumbles with the button on his jeans. "Just get naked and we'll figure it out," she says, and he obligingly kicks off the pants and his boxers. It's been a good two years since she was with a guy, and the sight of him is kind of a lot to take in. 

He grins when he catches her staring. "This was your idea," he says. "So your turn."

She pushes him off so she can strip herself, and then she's back on top of him, kissing him wet and deep, his hands all over her. 

"Fuck, Clarke," he breathes, and then laughs like he can't quite believe this is happening. 

She knows the feeling. 

"Yeah, definitely," she says, nuzzling his neck. "Definitely, definitely fucking."

He gets her ready with his hands, sure strokes of his fingers against her clit and then inside her, until she's practically begging him to just fuck her already.

"You're cute," he says, all cocky smirk, and she grabs a condom, pushes him down, and does it herself.

After, he kisses her hair and says, "Now I won't be offended if you fall asleep on me."

"Oh good," she says, already drifting off. "Because I'm definitely going to."

*

Clarke comes into the kitchen wearing one of his shirts, and Bellamy resists making out with her against the kitchen counter for a good five seconds before his resolve fails. 

"Good morning to you too," she says, laughing. Her hair is a mess and her breath is a disaster and he wants her in his kitchen every day, probably for the rest of his life.

But he's got a month, tops.

It's not the kind of thought he wants to be having when Clarke is in his kitchen, looking relaxed and well-rested and happier than he's ever seen her. His life is great right now; he's going to enjoy it for as long as he can.

"There's coffee," he says, inclining his head. 

"You're going to have to let me go first. And you should, because I really need coffee."

"You always really need coffee." He gives her one more quick kiss before moving out of the way so she can get to the coffee pot. Of course, she finds his biggest mug and fills it. "I never actually asked how your thing went. Did you talk to your mom?"

"Yeah," she says, leaning against the counter by the coffee pot, like she maybe thinks it'll go away if she doesn't keep an eye on it. "It was pretty okay. A lot of questions about you on the red carpet," she adds, smiling.

He laughs. "What did you tell them?"

"No comment. None of their business."

He sips his own coffee. "You pretty much dodged the mom side of that, you know. Not even subtly. I thought you were an actress."

"It was fine, really," she says, smiling. "I know I'm being a brat. I still think she's--I think she does her best, but she's not very good at it. But I'm glad she's happy. Really."

"I believe you." He can't help smirking. "Now just keep rehearsing it and maybe someone else will too."

"Dick," she says, fond.

"Oh yeah, definitely. You want breakfast?"

He's making pancakes when Octavia gets home, and he realizes belatedly that he should have put on a shirt and Clarke should have put on pants. Between them, they're almost appropriate for company.

"Oh," she says, taking in the scene--Bellamy at the stove in his boxers, Clarke sitting on the counter next to him in an old Tondici shirt of his. "Welcome back, Clarke."

"Um, thanks," she says. "Sorry, I can--"

"Don't worry about it. I'm going upstairs anyway." The look she gives Clarke is pure venom; Bellamy's going to have to talk to her about not being _fucking terrifying_ at his girlfriend later. "Remember, you break him--"

"I remember," says Clarke. "I won't."

Octavia holds the glare for another second, and then she's all smiles. "Cool. See you guys later."

"What did she tell you?" Bellamy asks.

"I break you, I buy you."

He swallows hard, not sure what to say. "She worries too much," he settles on, finally.

Clarke leans down and kisses him, but doesn't say anything else.

*

It doesn't change that much, except that Clarke barely sleeps in her hotel room anymore. There are a few articles posted about how she's no longer crossing the street to get to Bellamy's store and is often seen getting out of his car in the mornings, but she has trouble worrying about it. She's sleeping with the guy she's dating, what a scandal. 

Bellamy still doesn't care. "I look cute in the pictures, right?" he asks, and she just laughs and kisses him.

She has her first nightmare when she's with him on the fifth day; she knew they couldn't be _gone_ , but she was sort of hoping a little. Maybe he was magic.

She jolts up in a cold sweat, disoriented like always, no idea where she is for a long minute, still stuck in the car, not sure how to open the door, crying for her father.

Bellamy sits up, rubbing his face. "This is why you never get enough sleep?" he asks.

"One of the leading causes."

He tugs her back against his chest. "You want to talk about it, or just go back to sleep?"

"Not much to talk about. Sometimes I dream about when my dad died. It's not really surprising. It sucked."

"Yeah."

"I was asleep when it happened too. I woke up and I didn't know what was happening. So it's not always nightmares, sometimes I just--I wake up and think something bad's happening again."

"That sucks," he says, and it's enough to get her laughing, because it _does_ , and what else is there to say, really? It sucks.

"Yeah." She closes her eyes. "So you should definitely be flattered I fall asleep on you so much."

He kisses her hair. "Don't worry, I am."

Three days later, Monroe calls. "Do you want to buy or rent? Also, in Arcadia, or, like, nearby? Have you looked at jobs? I have a list for you. Not that you need a job, but I know how much you'd hate not having anything to do. Are you getting laid yet?"

Bellamy's behind the counter, chatting with Miller about their pastry supplier. Clarke slips into the staff room.

"You know I can't answer all those questions at the same time, right?"

"Not with that attitude you can't."

She smiles in spite of herself. "Yes, I'm getting laid. It's awesome. I haven't looked at jobs, email me the list." She considers, thinking of Bellamy's big, awesome bed, and how much she likes waking up with him. "Rent. In Arcadia."

"Oh my god, are you _engaged_?"

"No!"

"Well, you sound really stupid in love. Are you abandoning your entire life for a dude? Because, you know, whatever makes you happy, but wow."

"My entire life was already a disaster," she says. "It needed abandoning. He's just a bonus."

"Have you told Lexa yet?"

"I don't need Lexa's approval to make decisions."

"So, no."

She sighs. "No. I'll tell her."

"Does your boyfriend know?"

"Not until it's final. I don't--" she bites her lip. "He hasn't talked about it, but I know he's counting down the days. I don't want to get his hopes up until I'm sure."

"Oh my god, you're so in love. That's adorable. Call Lexa so she can make fun of you for me, I don't want to get fired."

"Just leave me alone and email me the jobs."

She goes back to her hotel to call Lexa, mostly because she feels bad taking over Bellamy's staff room so she can gossip about him with her friends and employees.

"I got a text from your assistant that just said _Clarke needs an adult_ ," she says. "Is this her crush on me manifesting again, or are you having actual problems?"

"Kind of both. I think I'm going to quit acting and move to Virginia."

There's a long pause. "I'm coming there. Immediately. You've obviously had some kind of psychotic break."

"I fucking hate Hollywood."

"Yes, but there's _I hate Hollywood_ and _I am moving to a tiny town in Virginia for my weird classics nerd boyfriend_."

"You guys need to stop connecting these two things. It's not just him. I have other friends. And I like it here. So--I think it's the right decision. And you're not allowed to fly back here and try to talk me out of it. I'm doing the right thing."

There's a long pause, and Lexa finally says, "I did see pictures of you at that gala. You looked happy."

"Everyone keeps telling me."

"This is much better than you developing a heroin habit and dying of a horrific overdose."

"Oh good, I was worried I wouldn't clear that bar."

"I'm going to schedule a time to come out there after you've moved so I can intimidate your boyfriend. He needs to understand that I could destroy him with a thought."

"I'll let him know. Will you tell Monroe to stop worrying and send me stuff so I can actually do this?"

"Have you called your mother?"

"Absolutely not."

"Acceptable. I'll text your assistant, and if you haven't called your mother within two weeks of buying a house, I will."

"You're the best."

"I am. Say hello to your boyfriend. Did I tell you he won an Easter bonnet contest with his little sister when he was fifteen? He looked very fetching."

"Goodbye," she says, firmly.

When she gets to the bar, she has three houses for rent to look at and a job that can't believe she's interested.

"I'm going to buy your brother," she tells Octavia, and then adds, "Not in a prostitute way. And I'm not breaking him first. That made more sense in my head."

Octavia laughs. "I think I got the gist. Have you told him?"

"I'm waiting until I have everything finalized. Just in case."

Octavia nods. "Good. I'm going to go back to thinking you're awesome without reservations."

"Great, same."

*

Clarke attempts to cook dinner on Friday; Bellamy is tempted to try to help, but it's a lot more fun to just offer unhelpful commentary and laugh at her. In the end, they order a pizza, and she says, "You know, I was trying to make this a special occasion."

"That was very special."

She kicks him. "You're a dick."

"Yeah."

"So, there's this theater festival? In Mount Weather? Like half an hour away?"

"Sure."

"I asked if they wanted to hire me to do something for them. They hung up on me because they thought it was a crank call, I had to drive over and convince them."

Bellamy goes very, very still.

"They thought they couldn't possibly pay me enough, but it turns out I'm really rich, so I don't actually care about salary. I start a week after filming wraps, whenever that is. I think we're going to be on time." He still doesn't know what to say, and her smile finally falters. "So, yeah, I've got a place to rent? Like I said, half an hour drive, but we know I like--"

He pulls her into his lap and kisses her, long and deep; Clarke melts into him with a happy sigh.

"You're not leaving."

"I fucking hate LA."

He laughs and tugs her closer. "Fuck. Thank god. I didn't know what I was going to do."

"Me neither," she says, soft enough he's not sure he was supposed to hear it, so he just kisses her hair and holds on.

 

**Epilogue: Six Months Later**

"He looks better in still photographs," Lexa declares. Bellamy is staring down at her, vaguely unnerved. He looks like a Great Dane being attacked by an angry kitten; not really _threatened_ so much as confused, a little offended, and unsure what he did to deserve this. "Something about his face works less well in motion."

"I'm right here," says Bellamy.

"I like his face," says Clarke.

"It's fine. He should consider modeling. Still modeling. I think he'd look excellent in black-and-white photographs."

"Thanks?" he tries. He glances at Clarke. "Is she trying to get you back to Hollywood? With me?"

"No, it's just Lexa. Please be nice. I'm keeping him."

Lexa huffs. "Yes, you've mentioned. Repeatedly." She looks around the living room; Clarke's almost entirely unpacked, and it looks nice. Their stuff actually goes together pretty well. "And I like the house. It's obviously tiny and I would never live here, but if this is what you like, it's good at it."

"She's being really nice to you," Clarke tells him. "She made my assistant cry the first time they met."

"Well, her makeup was a tragedy."

"I feel a lot better," says Bellamy, and wanders off to the kitchen to check on food.

Monty, Miller, and Jasper show up around five; Jasper spends about five minutes staring at Lexa, because he's never met an _actual supermodel_ before ("You know Clarke is still, like, really famous, right?" "Yeah, but _supermodel_."), until she tells him she is willing and able to remove his balls, at which point she and Miller become instant, terrifying BFFs.

Octavia and Lincoln are next, once they're done with their own move, and then Indra, who joins Miller and Lexa, since they weren't scary enough already. Clarke flees to the kitchen, because it's kind of an overwhelming amount of friendship all at once.

"We should have done this gradually," Bellamy says, amused. "First day, we have three people over. Then five. Really work up to it."

"Shut up. Miller and Lexa are trading war stories and Octavia is doing Lexa's hair. It's scary."

He pauses. "Yeah, no, that is scary, you're right."

There's a bustling in the living room and Clarke pokes her head back out to see Raven and Wick. Lexa glances over her shoulder and says, "You were right, she is very attractive."

"I told you."

"Ha!" says Raven, grinning at Wick. "The supermodel thinks I'm hot, suck it."

"How is that a burn on me?" he asks, cocking his head at her. "I get to sleep with you. The supermodel thinks you're hot, high five!"

If Monroe and Wells were here, it would be all her friends in one place, having a good time together. It's a lot to take in.

Bellamy comes in behind her, wrapping his arm around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. Raven is getting Mario Kart going; she can already sense the beginning of a blood feud between Lexa and Octavia that will be the stuff of legend.

"Seriously, you're good?"

"Yeah. It's cool. That she likes you guys."

"She likes me?"

"Yeah. I know it's hard to tell."

"So she's not going to drag you kicking and screaming back to California for your own good?"

She rolls her eyes. "You weren't really worried about that, were you?"

"Not exactly," he says, something strange in his tone, and Clarke thinks she gets it. It's still a little unbelievable for him sometimes, because he's known her for less than a year, but at the same time he's known her for most of his life, as this not-quite-real person, someone who exists, but not in the same world he does. She knows it happens to her other friends here too, and her coworkers, the dips into the unreality that _Clarke Griffin_ is a normal part of their daily lives.

She gives his hand a squeeze. "Well, it's definitely not happening. Moving all my stuff twice in six months was a colossal pain. No way I'm doing that again."

He snorts. "Never?"

LA is a nice place to visit, maybe every six months or so, when her mother really wants them at some gala or family event or very special movie premiere. It's gotten to the point where it's starting to feel like another life for her too, something distant that can't hurt her anymore. "Well, our yard could be bigger. But other than that, I'm set."

"Maybe in like five years," he says, voice soft and a little hopeful.

"Ten," she says. "Moving sucks."

"Ten," he agrees, and disentangles himself so he can go get his ass kicked at Mario Kart.

**Author's Note:**

> Clarke's ringtones, in order of assignment:
> 
> Default: Taylor Swift - [Out of the Woods](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PVAfR3QjFKo)  
> Lexa: Cake - [Short Skirt, Long Jacket](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u7aDstrDMf0)  
> Monroe: Robin Williams - [Friend Like Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=99Op1TaXmCw)  
> Abby: Mika - [Grace Kelly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0CGVgAYJyjk)  
> Wells: The Mountain Goats - [Fault Lines](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v065buRu7HY)  
> Marcus Kane: Cee Lo Green - [Fuck You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CAV0XrbEwNc)  
> Raven: Mark Ronson - [Uptown Funk ft. Bruno Mars](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OPf0YbXqDm0)  
> Bellamy: The Magnetic Fields - [Boa Constrictor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KuD8bTyKYjM)
> 
> Default (Epilogue): The Killers - [Mr. Brightside](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gGdGFtwCNBE)  
> Bellamy (Epilogue): The Magnetic Fields - [When My Boy Walks Down the Street](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dIKO4YIzp-o)  
> Bellamy's ringtone for Clarke (as picked by Clarke): Bob Dylan - [Queen Jane, Approximately](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sYxlugz28IQ)
> 
> Also, you can find some Octavia POV on this [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4039033/chapters/10367088)!


End file.
